


Winter's Tacenda

by xin_yurui



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anorexia Nervosa, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Trigger Warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28742790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xin_yurui/pseuds/xin_yurui
Summary: After his two weeks at the hospital, Donghyuck discharges even more determined and sicker than ever.He asks himself why do you do it, why do you want to live your life like this (a fever dream spun from moonlight and hammered into thin sheets of silver sleek glass, a mirror, where when he peers in his reflection shatters into a million broken pieces).Save yourself,the ghosts in his head say,save yourself.Maybe it’s because he’s not afraid to disappear.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Winter's Tacenda

**Author's Note:**

> This is likely to be a heavy one :( Please, if any of the things in the tags trigger you -- DO NOT READ!
> 
> Ily all

Jaemin grins. “Welcome back, Donghyuck,” he says. He’s got his maths book propped up on his desk, reclined back, chair tipping dangerously on its hind legs. Behind his book, a lollipop stick protrudes from the seam of his lips as he swirls it around with his tongue. 

Donghyuck scowls in response and slings his bag across the desk beside him, swinging his body around so that it’s facing the lecture hall board. He chooses to ignore Jaemin in favor of flipping his book open to page two forty seven, and slams a couple of black pens down. It’s cold in the lecture hall, and he shivers despite wearing a thick layer of clothing underneath a coat.

It’s only the beginning of fall.

Mark is silent, only gazing unblinkingly at Donghyuck -- when Donghyuck gets up again to hand in his long overdue essay, he passes Mark’s desk and hisses, “Stop looking, okay? I got it.” Mark casts his gaze downwards, unsmiling.

Donghyuck flops back down, the chair making an ugly screeching sound that causes everybody else in the room to raise their heads and stare in his direction. Donghyuck ducks down, silently fuming while Jaemin shakes with laughter behind his book. 

“Shut _up_ ,” he whispers to Jaemin vehemently and hooks his ankles around the front legs of his chair to pull them closer to his desk, back stiff. He looks straight ahead while taking notes, other hand bunched into a fist under his desk and struggles to control his heart. It beats rapidly, hummingbird wings going two hundred miles a second. He refuses to glance at the clock throughout the entire lecture, instead relying on the steady tick of the second hand in the silence of the room. The ticks echo throughout the cavernous space, and slowly, his heart calms down with them.

He chances a look at Mark. Mark is hunched over his books, scribbling furiously with a number two pencil. Mark has always used pencils while Donghyuck has preferred pens; it’s a distinct trait of both of them that they used to argue over when they were young. 

Donghyuck forces his feet still underneath the table despite their need to incessantly tap against the floor. He twirls his pen with his fingers, staring straight ahead and ignores Jaemin’s snickering. He can feel the glances from other students around the room and he grits his teeth and doesn’t look up. He knows he looks different, maybe not that much but a subtle change enough. No doubt, some people must be wondering what happened. 

The clock hits time, hour hand on the nine and minute hand on the twelve. He stands up abruptly, doesn’t give space for Jaemin to catch up and sling his arm around his shoulder before making his way over to Mark.

Mark puts down his pencil with wide eyes and opens his mouth. Donghyuck shushes him and grabs him by the elbow. 

“I’ll fill you in later,” he mutters under his breath. Mark nods, then gathers his papers with one hand while sweeping his bag off the table with the other. Hesitates.

“Donghyuck, I’m --”

 _“Later,_ ” Donghyuck emphasizes. When he chances a look behind him, Jaemin’s already caught up with Jeno. Donghyuck shakes his head, then drags Mark out the door, setting a brisk pace down the hallways.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Mark says, making a move to lift Donghyuck’s bag from his shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck says quickly, twisting his shoulder so that it stays out of Mark’s reach. It’s a hefty bag, zippers bursting at the seams with textbooks that weigh at least five pounds each. Donghyuck’s always been studious. Stubborn. “I can handle it.”

Mark nods, then gently pries his elbow out of Donghyuck’s grip. He matches Donghyuck’s pace, stride for stride until they make their way to the exit doors where a gust of wind cuts cold and sharp in their faces. Mark winces a little bit, but Donghyuck hardens his expression and quickens his steps. The walk to the apartment is long, but at the pace he takes, they’re able to reach it in twenty minutes. 

They’re on the fourth level, but Donghyuck insists on taking the stairs. Mark, used to him and tired, doesn’t object. When they reach their room, Donghyuck fumbles with the keys before inserting them into the lock, jiggling the knob up and down before the door finally swings open. Even then, he doesn’t pause -- he drops his bag on the floor and sweeps into the kitchen area, filling a cup (ceramic, with painted trees) with tap water before sticking the cup into the microwave. He presses the button for thirty seconds and slumps down in the nearest chair. 

Mark follows behind slower, eyes roaming the room and catching on the stack of sheets on the counter. He makes his way towards them, and when he reaches them he scans them briefly. His eyes lift up to meet Donghyuck’s.

“Discharge papers,” Donghyuck offers unenthusiastically. “I filled you in as my supervisor for the next three months.”

Mark’s eyes widen. He stumbles backwards, tripping over his own feet. “What? Donghyuck, I can’t -- I mean, _you_ can’t place that kind of trust in me -- “

Donghyuck cuts in. “It was either that or Jaemin,” he says tiredly, leaning forwards to rest his chin in his cupped palms. The microwave beeps, and Donghyuck stands up to get his water. He wraps his hands around the mug, ceramic comfortably warm, seeping heat into the icy cold of his hands. 

Mark swallows. He brings the stack of papers to the kitchen table, where Donghyuck immediately thumbs through the stack. 

“They included an entire handbook, for fuck’s sake. As if anyone’s going to read that. Here.” He rifles through the stack until he comes across three sheets of paper, embellished with a glossy logo and printed in size twelve font. “You’re gonna want to read that. I’ve got it memorized already.”

He continues to flip through the stack of papers, lists of dos, lists of don’ts, contract plans, the like. As he looks through them, he can feel his mood progressively deteriorating, a scowl making its way onto his face. Mark slowly looks through the papers Donghyuck handed to him, and when he’s finished, Donghyuck snatches them away again.

“Okay, let’s hang this up somewhere where both of us can see it.” He scans the room, eyes coming to rest on the cabinet doors. “I’ll tape it up between those cabinets over there. That way, we can’t argue.”

“Donghyuck, wait,” Mark says quietly. Donghyuck pauses. Turns around. Catches Mark’s expression. _Don’t say it don’t say it don’tsayit --_

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

A nasty habit of his, an attachment to self-destruction he hasn’t quite explored not because of lack of time but rather out of a denial to its existence. He pushes the thought aside. 

Donghyuck’s eyes dart to the papers in his hands. Three pages of meal planning, calories listed for each meal at each time of the day. Example meals of what is considered acceptable. Example meals of what is considered not. He feels sick thinking about it.

Mark takes his silence for a no. “Come on, Donghyuck-ah. What do you want?” He searches through the pile of papers spread out on the table until he finds what he’s looking for. Donghyuck sees the label of the sheet and his heart climbs up in his throat, lungs collapsing in on themselves. He scans the room and spots an empty bowl beside the sink.

“I’m having cereal,” he announces, pointing. Mark sets down the paper to Donghyuck’s relief, and scrutinizes the bowl.

“Donghyuck,” he begins carefully, “that’s too small to be a full serving.”

_He could eat the entire box --_

“My stomach isn’t feeling well today.”

Mark opens his mouth again. Hesitates. Donghyuck’s heartbeat rises again, blood pounding in his ears. He turns around and marches to the cabinets, rummages around in his backpack for scotch tape, breaks off a piece, and attaches the paper to the wood of the doors. The waves rise, pressure building, and he can’t hear anything, just a tinny ringing sound in his ears.

“Okay.”

Donghyuck blinks, finger almost missing the piece of tape. “What?”

“Okay,” Mark says again, “But only because this is your first day back and I believe you. But tomorrow, we’re going to start for real.”

Donghyuck slumps over the cabinet in relief. Mark stands up.

“I have to get to my next class,” he says, “Make sure you eat something.” He makes his way to the door, hand cautious on the knob. He’s biting his lips, and Donghyuck’s eyes are drawn, unbidden, to the movement. 

“Stay warm, Donghyuck,” he says before he swings the door of the apartment open and lets it fall shut behind him, silent and heavy.

When he’s sure he’s gone, Donghyuck slides to the floor, eyes closed, head falling back with a thump. He takes deep breaths, three seconds in, five seconds out. Repeat. Repeat again. Repeat again. Then he pushes himself to his feet and begins to unload the dishwasher, shining clean bowls and plates and cups. They clatter together musically when he places them back in their respective cabinets, the glass cups clinking with the ceramic ones. He unloads the knives. They gleam in the morning sunlight and whisper when he slides them back into the butcher’s block. _Knives, an item on the list of don’ts._

He wipes his hands on a towel and looks around the kitchen. 

_Make sure you eat something._

He grits his teeth and goes over to the cupboard where they store the cereal. There’s two kinds. He resists the urge to turn the box over on its side, resists the urge to check the numbers for the thousandth time -- he knows them all anyways. He grabs the empty bowl beside the sink. Pours the cereal in so that covers the bottom of the bowl and maybe an inch along the bowl’s height. Gets the milk. Pours just enough so that it covers the cereal, then sits down with a fork. Eats it. Ignores the churning anxiety in his stomach, ignores the way the cereal catches scratchy bitty on the sides of his esophagus, threatening to come back up.

_Make sure you eat something._

He grips the sides of the bowl tightly and tips it back, pouring the remains of the milk down his throat, jagged shards of cereal poking into the soft lining before he swallows. His feet tap on the floor at a mad hatter’s pace and his hands are freezing cold, despite having drank the warm water before and wearing so many layers. He stands up and places the bowl into the sink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand -- goes over to his backpack, where he takes out a battered worn journal. He’s surprised they didn’t confiscate it at the hospital, likely thinking it was his math homework or something of the similar. 

He flips to a blank page and writes neatly, _M1 - 250._

_Always estimate up._

It’s better to estimate up rather than down because it’s safer to know that the damage is less bad than it is on paper. He scrutinizes the 250, considers scratching it out. Considers replacing it with a 300. Decides against it. He’s glad he’s eaten something, because he has to go out with Jaemin later. 

And he knows what happens when he doesn’t get enough in his system.

  
  
  
  
  


_It’s the summer of senior year in high school, and Donghyuck is at his school’s fair. Jaemin laughs beside him, Jeno points towards the rickety hastily set-up roller coaster in the distance, and Mark vehemently protests against it. Donghyuck, ever the bane of Mark’s existence, is determined to go._

_Had he eaten anything that morning, or the night before, the lunchtime before that, the morning before that?_

_Of course not._

_Sitting in the car next to Mark, Mark tightly squeezing his hand, Donghyuck feeling his heart rate start to pick up uncontrollably -- he thinks, maybe this is a bad idea. It’s too late, though, and they’re already heading up the first large hill and Donghyuck is feeling black squiggles up his spine and his vision is blurring around the edges. The train car disappears, the sky turns dark, and just as they crest the hill, he knows -- this is a very bad idea. They begin their descent, and the force of the air pushes Donghyuck’s head forwards so that his neck bones protrude out of his nape. He feels like his neck is going to snap, and fear courses through his body. He blacks out._

_When he comes to, Mark is bent over him and yelling. Donghyuck opens his eyes, and spots of light dance around his vision. Why are you yelling, he wants to ask, but his tongue is heavy and thick in his mouth and his fingers have clenched an ironclad grip around the safety bar. Mark pries his hands off the safety bar before lifting it up over his head and slipping an arm under Donghyuck’s knees; the other arm comes under his armpits and he easily lifts Donghyuck up from the compartment._

_Mark is cursing, and Donghyuck wants to tell him look see I’m fine nothing happened there’s no need to make such a big deal out of anything. Mark dials 911. Donghyuck is in panic. His tongue finally loosens and his jaw unhinges and he’s tugging on Mark’s sleeve and saying what are you doing what are you doing. Mark looks at him with hard eyes and doesn’t say anything, so Donghyuck struggles out of Mark’s arms and promptly collapses to the ground, legs too unsteady and weak to support him._

_He grabs onto Mark’s arm, grip soft. “Mark, what are you doing?” He gestures to himself, as if to say, look, I’m fine, I’m in one piece, nothing is wrong. Fury enters Mark’s eyes and he hauls Donghyuck up to his feet, who immediately latches on to Mark for support._

_“You’re not okay, Donghyuck,” Mark says, voice low and steady._

_The ambulance arrives. The people on board take his measurements. He has the blood pressure of a dead snake. His heart skitter patters along, misses a beat or two. Busted. They load him onto a cot, stick a needle into his arm and inflate him like a balloon. He’s screaming. He’s betrayed. Mark watches the whole exchange with guilt in his eyes, but he makes no move to stop the emt-people. Donghyuck kicks and thrashes until they get people to hold his limbs down. They ship him to the hospital, where he needs to be restrained again -- they drip sugar water into his empty veins…_

_He’s discharged two weeks later. They have him fill out discharge papers. He writes down Mark as his supervisor. They send him off with a warning and he gleefully bounces back to school, despite being a couple pounds heavier, he doesn’t worry._

_Lesson learned. Some things require fuel._

  
  
  
  
  


Donghyuck stuffs his feet into shoes and checks his watch. It’s slotted into the lowest setting but still slides around on his wrist. Twelve thirteen. He promised he’d meet Jaemin at twelve thirty. He sighs, does a check around the apartment, opens the front door and lets it close softly behind him. He locks the door, jiggling the knob a couple of times to make sure it’s secure before he heads down to the first floor, pushes open the door to the apartment complex and steps out into the chill of the fall air. He shivers, pulls his coat closer to his body and casts his gaze upwards to the gray sky. He can almost taste the rain in the air.

He walks briskly and is able to arrive at the coffee shop in fifteen minutes -- two minutes early. Jaemin is already sitting at a table, menu in hand and phone in front of him. Donghyuck weaves through the crowd of people to get to the table, picking up a menu on the way, he pulls out the chair across from Jaemin and sits down. Jaemin looks up at the sudden movement, breaking into a wide smile.

“Donghyuck! You’re late.”

Donghyuck frowns, checking his watch again. Twelve twenty nine. “It’s twelve twenty nine,” he informs Jaemin, who only smiles wider.

“I’m playing with you, Donghyuck,” he says, and sets the menu down. “Are you ready to order?”

Donghyuck quickly scans the menu, looking over the items. No numbers. His stomach churns uncomfortably, threatening to spill out the cereal he’d eaten a couple hours ago. He takes a deep breath, and leans back in his chair.

“You can go first,” he offers, and Jaemin nods and flags a waiter down.

Jaemin orders jjigae then looks expectantly at Donghyuck. Donghyuck hides his cold hands underneath the table and clears his throat. 

“A coffee, please,” he says. “With the condiments on the side.” He starts to hand the menu back, but Jaemin stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Don’t you want anything else?” He asks, a concerned look passing in shadows over his face. 

_He doesn’t need anything --_

Donghyuck plasters on a smile. “Jaemin-ah,” he says, “I’ve already had something before I came here. Don’t worry.”

Jaemin nods, placated, and Donghyuck hands his menu back to the waiter. 

“So.” Jaemin leans back in his chair and folds his arms around his chest. “Fill me in. I haven’t seen you since three weeks ago, since that roller coaster ride. Then boom! You disappeared for two weeks and no one’s seen you since, till today.” He raises his eyebrows. “Mark wouldn’t tell me what was going on, so…?”

Donghyuck resists the urge to curse, running a hand through his hair. Of course the first thing Jaemin would ask about would be this. He was there, with Donghyuck and Jeno and Mark the day the ambulance came to take him to hell. It makes sense; aside from Mark, no one knows of his situation. It hasn’t been a recent development, but it’s wormed its way into his life and made a home in the pieces of him -- it’s only natural that those who didn’t live with him, couldn’t observe him, couldn’t _dissect_ him, wouldn’t know. He waves his hands airily. “It’s nothing. I wasn’t feeling well that day, Mark overreacted and called 911. The whole entire operation came over, said I needed to be hospitalized. Stayed in the hospital for two weeks because they’re delusional there.” He shrugs. “That’s it.”

Jaemin listens with furrowed brows. “But you passed out. I saw Mark lifting you out of the train car when the thing came to a stop.”

Donghyuck folds his hands neatly and places them on the table. It’s difficult, he thinks, to fill in the sketchier parts of the story, but he’ll do what he can. “Like I said.” Shrugs again. “I wasn’t feeling well that day. You know, adrenaline does something that causes people to pass out. I believe it’s called vasovagal syncope.”

Jaemin tilts his head. “They wouldn’t hospitalize you without a good reason, right? It’s expensive, I heard.”

In fact, it had been so expensive they were unable to fully weight restore him. Two weeks by far wasn’t enough; he’d just managed to escape the throes of refeeding syndrome by the last day of the second week. Needless to say, whatever they had put in him made him bloat up like a pufferfish and created so much inflated water weight that he’d magically been ready for discharge even if his actual mass was still in the red zone. 

This all flies by Donghyuck’s head as he casts Jaemin an annoyed look. “Why are you so invested in this? Fine. My blood pressure dropped, okay? It’s a common thing to happen on rides. They just overreacted and made a misjudgement.” 

Jaemin leans forwards. “But Donghyuck,” he begins, “Two whole weeks?”

Donghyuck feels the frustration build. He sighs. “Look, Jaemin --”

He’s spared from having to defend his position as their orders arrive. The waitress sets the jjigae between them and the coffee in front of Donghyuck. Jaemin’s eyes light up at the sight of the food and he thanks the waitress, dipping the metal spoon inside the bowl to taste the soup. Donghyuck averts his eyes and picks up the cup of coffee, hugging it in between his frigid digits. 

Jaemin groans, eyes closed in bliss. “It’s so good. Are you sure you don’t want to try it?”

_He wants it like he’s never wanted anything else --_

“No.” Donghyuck smiles sweetly. He takes a sip of the coffee, nose scrunching up at the bitter aftertaste. He sets the coffee cup down and folds his arms on the table, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. “It does look nice, though.”

Jaemin nods and spoons tofu. “It’s divine.” Donghyuck grips his coffee cup tightly. He’s about to bring it to his mouth again just as his phone rings, and he fishes it out of his pocket, fumbling a little with the passcode before opening up his messages.

_Where are you?_

Donghyuck bites his lip and replies.

_At the cafe with Jaemin. Do you need something?_

Jaemin peers at Donghyuck’s phone over his bowl. “Who is it?”

His phone rings again.

_Nah. I’m back though now._

Three dots appear, then disappear. Appear again.

_Do you wanna make plans for when you get back?_

“Mark.” He doesn’t spare Jaemin a glance.

_I won’t be back until eight or so._

He thinks for a moment.

_You can go ahead and eat without me, I’ll pick up something on my way back._

Three dots appear, and they stay for a long time before disappearing. Donghyuck waits anxiously for Mark’s response, feet tapping against the linoleum of the cafe floor, he purses his lips.

Another ding; Donghyuck taps his now dark screen to light it up.

 _Ok. I’ll need to see your receipt, though._

Shit.

He types back.

_Fine by me._

He looks up, scans his surroundings. Where is he going to get a receipt? His gaze drifts over to Jaemin, currently inspecting something in his bowl. Donghyuck’s eyes light up. “Jaemin-ah,” he says, “Do you still need your receipt?”

  
  
  
  
  


When Donghyuck gets back to his apartment, it’s well past nine. He tiptoes past Mark’s room, thinks, then tiptoes in to check on Mark. Makes sure he hasn’t kicked off the covers in his sleep, makes sure he’s resting fitfully. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Mark turned in his side, chest rising up and down gently with each breath, long lashes dusting soot over the crests of his cheekbones. His shirt has ridden up slightly from where it’s bunched up, and Donghyuck looks away. 

He turns to go and a hand catches his wrist, suddenly, and he can’t help but let out a little noise of surprise.

“Hyuck-ah, wait,” Mark slurs sleepily, turning over so he can see Donghyuck, squinting in the bright hallway lights. He struggles to his forearms, bracing his body against the pillows.

“I just -- ‘m sorry,'' he says, reaching out his other hand to grope for Donghyuck’s. “For everything. Didn’t get to tell you earlier today.”

Donghyuck’s eyes soften, and he’s climbing onto Mark’s bed and pulling the covers higher up his chest, covering the thin strip of skin exposed at his waist. “You did the right thing,” he says quietly, heart lurching in his chest when Mark turns his head to look at him with his big doe eyes.

“Really?” He asks, hopeful, sounding like a small child.

Donghyuck nods, tucking the blankets under his chin. He registers somewhere in him that it must be difficult for Mark, but at the same time he doesn’t understand because nothing was happening, nothing was going wrong. He’d learned his lesson, that he does need fuel for some things, that as long as he can provide that he won’t faint or lose consciousness again, no one will worry. 

Nevermind the fact that -- 

_He’ll still be --_

Or that --

_This concerns him, and him only --_

Or that -- 

_Nothing is going to happen --_

He likes to think of it as bettering himself. Always a perfectionist. Bettering oneself is always a good thing, right? He’s simply making little adjustments, small improvements. In the end, he’ll come out a better person. This is what he tells himself. 

Mark yawns. “Stay?” It comes out as a question, and Donghyuck hesitates -- for what reason, he doesn’t know. They’ve shared a bed a million times before when they were kids, yet somehow as adults, Donghyuck struggles to find the sense of familiar intimacy that pools in youth the way he was able to before. 

“Okay,” he says, “Let me first get changed.” He pads down the hallway to his room where he grabs a large loose shirt and a pair of shorts, then heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he’s finished, he slides under the blankets with Mark, curling up to Mark’s side and pressing his cold toes to Mark’s calf. Maybe before, he would have kept some of his decency and stayed at one end of the bed -- but through the years, he’s learned it's no use -- he and Mark end up so tangled in the morning he can’t tell whose limbs are whose. So he huddles close to Mark, shivering, and Mark lifts an arm to wrap it around Donghyuck’s shoulders. 

“I’m really sorry,” Mark says quietly, lying on his back. “But at the same time… I don’t regret it, you know?” He turns to face Donghyuck, and his exhale comes in a puff of warm air that breathes life into the tip of Donghyuck’s icy nose. “It hurt me… to see you like that.”

Donghyuck swallows, then casts his gaze to the ceiling so he can’t see the intensity in Mark’s eyes. “Yeah.” He shuffles closer, presses his toes harder. Pretends he’s in a world where he can keep Mark happy and fend off Jaemin’s worries, pretends that two weeks in the hospital made a life changing difference, a difference enough so that he’s all better. 

Pretends he’s not planning to do it all over again. 

Mark sighs, and lets his arm hang loose around Donghyuck’s shoulders. Within minutes, he’s asleep again, breathing evened out and lightly lilting. But for Donghyuck, sleep doesn’t come to him easily -- it dances, just a little out of his reach every time he attempts to make a grab for it. 

It’s twelve thirty four when he eases quietly out of Mark’s grip and slips his body out of the bed. His stomach aches, hollow and empty, begs at him. Sometimes, the days bleed together in a way that he can’t remember what he did, when he did it, where. He laughs privately and bitterly to himself at the idea that maybe what he’s doing is part of why he can’t remember. It doesn’t mean he’ll stop, though.

Instead, he quietly goes to the kitchen area and rummages around the cupboard for a pack of ramyeon. The non spicy ones have less sodium, he reasons, and it’s not like he’ll even put the entire seasoning packet in. He brings a pot of water to a boil and tears open the package, breaking away half of the block of noodles. He breaks it unevenly, so that one half is smaller than the other -- he puts the smaller half into the pot (he’ll count it as half) and waits for the noodles to soften before adding the seasoning with a spoon -- one fourth of the packet. He cracks in a single egg minus the yolk, for some protein, just so his muscles won’t waste away. The entire mixture simmers for a small while before he takes the pot off the stove, slides underneath a potholder and sticks his chopsticks in.

He eats it, in the silence of the night and illuminated by the moon’s beams. He’s not that nervous, not right now, not when he knows he’s been in a deficit the entire day and he has room to spare. He has to be careful -- with Mark watching him, if he ends up in the hospital again… he pushes the thought away and resumes the tapping of his feet against the floor. It’s the only sound in the room besides the clock ticking on the wall, and somehow, even though Mark is just around the corner, he’s never felt lonelier. 

  
  
  
  
  


Mark is the reason Donghyuck believes in fate. Donghyuck meets Mark in a rainy Canada, a summer afternoon, sticky and humid. He’s eleven and he’s sent over to learn English, destined to spend two years in a foreign country with no lingual support at all. 

Walking into his school on the first day is nerve wracking, and standing outside waiting for the school doors to open, he realizes Canada is much different from Korea. He attempts to make small talk with the children outside using his limited English, yet what is confusing to him is the way the other children shy away as if he is something contagious. They treat him as if he is lame, dumb, deaf, a fool, for not knowing how to speak their language fluently. What’s even more flabbergasting is that this is not just some typical childish behavior, it is a behavior that the adults at the school also exhibit. 

In a blatant showcase of “foreigner-phobia,” the front staff refuse to even let him into the building. So Donghyuck sits outside on the front steps, bewildered in his innocence and completely unaware of the cruelty the world was showing him at the time. 

At twelve, Mark Lee is the only person in the building that seems to show none of this strange behavior; instead, he is the one human out of the four hundred seventy three in vicinity to stand outside with Donghyuck in the rain until school ends, refusing to come inside even when coaxed at by his teachers. 

When school ends, Donghyuck follows Mark to his house, who tells his parents about the entire situation at school. The next day, Donghyuck finds that he’s allowed into the building -- not only is he allowed in, but since Korea’s placing differs from Canada’s, he shares classes with Mark. And Mark is able to help him learn English -- slowly but surely, Donghyuck learns. While he always retains his accent, over the months it becomes lighter and lighter.

When he has to go back to Korea, he clings onto Mark, shakes his head, and says in a small voice, “I don’t want to go.”

Mark gently untangles their limbs and says in Korean, “Wait for me, Donghyuck.” And so Donghyuck lets him go, passing through the security at the airport gates and searching for Mark with his eyes until he’s swallowed by the crowd. 

_Wait for me._

“Ah shit.”

Mark looks up from where he’s hunched over his homework and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Donghyuck flaps his hands at Mark, then shakes his head. “Nothing. I have a seasonal check-up today. You know, the one where the doctor shines the light in your eyes and sticks a popsicle beam down your throat.”

“Ah.”

Donghyuck shrugs. It’s not a big deal, but he needs to prepare nonetheless.

Mark sets down his pencil. “Should I come with you?”

Donghyuck shakes his head, silently horrified at the idea. “No, don’t. I’ll be fine.” He backs out of the kitchen area and turns the corner to his room, waving off Mark’s concern. Locks the door. Once he’s sure the door is secure, he flies around the room frantically, searching for everything, anything. He finds a couple of spare quarters lying around and slips them in his socks, digs around his closet and he finds a belt -- heavy leather with a brass buckle and clips it around his waist. It slides down his hips. He’s frustrated, rips the belt off. Sits at his desk and uses a pair of scissors to punch holes in the leather, then clips it back around his waist where it fits snugly. He finds spare plastic water bottles in his bag, downs four, feels like he’s about to explode. Dons heavy clothing. When he’s satisfied, he exits the room and makes his way down the hallway.

Mark looks up again and starts. “Why are you wearing so much?”

Annoyed, Donghyuck glares at him. “You know I get cold easily. Plus, it’s the coldest day in September so far.” He edges out the door. Mark stares at him strangely, but to Donghyuck’s relief, doesn’t question his behavior. Once the door shuts behind him, Donghyuck dashes to the nearest bus stop, boards a bus, rides thirty minutes to downtown and runs the rest of the way to the office. He sits in the waiting room until his name is called, and then follows the nurse into the sterile room.

She smiles at him. “Dr. Lee Taeyong will be here with you shortly,” she says.

Donghyuck nods and swings his feet. She exits the room and he’s left alone. Tacked up all around the walls are posters (What You Need to Know About the HPV Vaccine! and The Digestive System and Eating Healthy!) Donghyuck furrows his brow at the last one but doesn’t make a move to inspect it closer. He knows all of it already.

There’s a knock at the door, and Dr. Lee Taeyong enters the room. He’s ethereal looking, with bright hair and deep set eyes and an angular face, and Donghyuck can’t help but notice that his presence alludes a kind of year-aged authority, despite how young he looks. 

“Hello, Donghyuck,” he says, smiling pleasantly, “My name is Dr. Lee Taeyong. I’ll be doing your physical today.” 

Donghyuck nods, and Dr. Lee gestures to the scale in the corner of the room. “Please step on.”

Donghyuck hops off the patient table and sets both feet on the scale. It’s blank for a couple of seconds, then flashes gray. 113. He’s pleased. The coins in his socks dig into the bones of his feet, and he’s sure they’ll leave marks. He steps off, and Dr. Lee records his height. Five feet eight inches. Dr. Lee nods, then gestures to the patient bed again while Donghyuck situates himself and waits for his report. 

“You’re a little underweight,” Dr. Lee says, “But that’s not out of the ordinary. Do you play sports?”

“Yep,” Donghyuck says, popping the “p” at the end. Dr. Lee nods, then records something on his clipboard. “I’d recommend you to gain a little bit of weight. I say milkshakes are good for that."

Donghyuck smiles. Milkshakes, his ass. He thanks Dr. Lee and exits the room. He’s gleeful, happy as a pig in the clover and he jogs all the way home, not bothering to take the bus. He figures the exercise is good for him anyways. 

When he gets back, it’s six in the evening. Mark is cooking ramyeon and Donghyuck slips him a greeting before padding quietly into the bathroom. He digs the quarters out of his socks and unloops the belt from his waist, undresses, then turns the water to the hottest setting and watches the steam float across the mirror, staining it opaque. 

He’s got dark circles under his eyes and his face looks hollow, tired. He looks at himself with scrutinizing eyes. 

If he looks hard enough, someone else is staring back.


End file.
